


Horatio

by bwblack



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-25
Updated: 2010-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-14 11:17:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bwblack/pseuds/bwblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft forces Sherlock to go shopping</p>
            </blockquote>





	Horatio

“Sherlock Horatio Holmes, if you do not get started on your holiday shopping….”

“Horatio?” Sherlock asks.

“If you do not have gifts for Mummy at Christmas, that will be your middle name.” Mycroft explains.

“Horatio?” Sherlock repeats.

“Try me.”  
\--

Sherlock hates going shopping. Standing in line is time he will never get back. Murderers are walking free in London and he is shopping.. He’s only been at it for a few minutes when some idiot spritses him with cologne. He sneezes. He is going home. He turns towards the door and is stopped by an umbrella twirling Machiavellian madman.

“Hello, Horatio.” Mycroft grins maliciously.

“I wasn’t leaving.” Sherlock pouts.

“No?”

“I was just giving this fine young gentlemen the opportunity to freshen my back side.”

“Sure you are.” Mycroft shrugs.

“Goodbye.”

“I think I’ll stay.”

“Suit yourself.” Sherlock shrugs,

“I have a tailor that does that for me.”

“Don’t you have a small defenseless country to invade?”

“Not until after lunch.”

Sherlock checks the time on his cell phone and groans. “What are you getting Mummy?”

“Something better than you are.”

“You don’t know what I’m getting her!”

“Whatever you get, I’ll get better.”

Sherlock shakes his head and turns back towards the cologne counter. He smiles at the overzealous spritzer, “My brother is going to need to sample many, many scents.”

Sherlock steps away towards the escalator as he hears the first spray.

As he walks through menswear he makes a mental list of people he wants to shop for. The list is short. The list is nearly nonexistent. He’d like for John to get a job. Except he needs John to have a job that has absurdly flexible hours. It would be better if John came into a windfall, but not such a large windfall that he can afford a private flat. He assumes that everybody buys John jumpers. He loves John’s Jumper collection. But he doesn’t want to be everybody.

Anderson could use a clue. Actually, a clue wouldn’t help Anderson. Anderson has clues all the time. He never knows what to do with them. Anderson needs a sign that says, “this is a clue you bleeding idiot. Whatever you think the clue means, you’re wrong. Guess again.”

He’s contemplating what Sally needs when he smells a sickeningly sweet musk. Mycroft… needs a shower.

“You haven’t bought anything.”

“How perceptive.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“That detective fellow?”

“What about him.”

“He should be on your list.”

“Why””

“He puts up with you.”

“He could use 100 spare badges. “

“I suspect he has a steady supply already. He’d be a terrible security risk if the department knew he lost them the way other people do pocket change.”

“How do you know he loses them?”

“Why would he need 100 spare if he didn’t, if you didn’t take them?”

“Who said anything about me taking them?”

“Sherlock… please…” Mycroft shakes his head dismissively.

“Mummy?”

“Something for the garden?”

“Please… you think I’d fall for that?”

“What do you think she would want?” Mycroft asks.

“What do you think she’d want?” Sherlok returns.

“A quiet Christmas without us bickering, I suppose.”

“That would never work.”

“Grandchildren?” Mycroft suggests.

“Seems less likely than the first.”

“Yes.”

“Molly….”

“The girl from Barts?”

“He’s Not That Into You”. Sherlock suggests.

“Who else?”

“Donovan, Lestrade’s sergeant. Knee pads.”

“Something more tactful, perhaps?”

Sherlock shrugs, “Why?”

“I think it is common for people to be able to tell others what they got for Christmas.”

“Why?”

“Social convention.” Mycroft explains.

“Stupid.”

“Most social conventions are. Your landlady? Mrs. Hudson.”

“Housekeeper.”

“She’s not your housekeeper.”

“No, of course not, she could use one. Then she wouldn’t always be going on about it.”

“Right.”

“Goodbye Mycroft.” Sherlock says with a wave.

“You haven’t bought anything.”

“I think I’ll take my chances with Horatio.”


End file.
